


One Taste of You, My Magdalena

by SpicyWalrus



Series: A Dollar at a Time [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pole Dancing, definitely not the flashy kind, i mean the real kind, like serious graceful shit right here, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyWalrus/pseuds/SpicyWalrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard is dragged along into a club. Unfortunately, it's a strip club.</p>
<p>One dancer, the only man with a rather dark aura, turns his disdain into want.</p>
<p>Want turns into need, need turns into late night refrains.</p>
<p>(or, Kaidan pole dances and he's very, very good at it. Shepard's world becomes a little twisted.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Taste of You, My Magdalena

**Author's Note:**

> wow, okay. if you dont know about real, artful pole dancing, I suggest you see some contemporary pole dancing. Becuase it's hard, it's beautiful, and I think kaidan could do it.  
> go read it for yourself  
> ALSO SONG LIST AT THE END YOU'LL PROBABLY NEED TO GET A GOOD FEEL OF THE FIC

Cold is the air out on the town. It's eerie and dark and filled with crime and sex and smoke.

It isn't _that_ bad, Shepard thinks.

Miranda has already dragged him into a club. A Strip club, per se, and he isn't enjoying himself. Jack is hooting low and enjoying the miniscule pieces of fabric that lay over women's breasts, their asses, everything but privacy seen. John's at least amused by the way Miranda clings to Jack's side, chattering low and secretive. Jack nods and laughs at one thing, Miranda bites her lip at the next. Miranda and her white leather, Jack and her normal, rather risque looks.

Shepard isn't enjoying himself. He sits and glances around at each and every dancer, all on platforms pristine black and lit in a chic stripe to outline the edge, emitting a changing light dependent on the mood of music. It's a high-end place, to say the least, it's filled considerably with people-- most interested, few, obviously, half-interested or less-- and the booze is... nice. Very nice. 

Which means that, yes, he's slurring any reply that Miranda beckons him and he can't tell the difference between her flirts and her snide remarks. Which then again, was there any much of a difference? The city seemed to change her.

Shepard still isn't enjoying himself.

Until he spots someone through the dark, a man, stepping to the stage with an eerie confidence as the track plays out into darker tones by the second. It sets a deep restlessness in his stomach, a spark that comes involuntarily at the base of his spine. He, the pale _man_ , with piercing eyes and perfect, clean skin, dressed in black, just _black_.

It's a normal tee, nothing unusual or flashy like other clubs, but God, how it shaped the curves of his body and contours his chest and _oh_ , Shepard's mind if vapid with sudden lust.

Then he starts getting into the beat, eyes low and free of concentration. Part of Shepard thinks he's drugged, the other part of him thinks it's just the alcohol making his imagination run free. The man, dark, perfect hair, attracts a few people, men, women, _Jack and Miranda_. He's attractive, maybe more so than the other women dancing, because _damn_ , who can dance that smoothly and sexily? 

Shepard tries not t lose it when he rounds the pole to the smooth beat, and picks himself up with one arm, just one, and kicks his legs in the air for a test. Just a test, says his body language.

Then the music gets better, and he's peeling his shirt off of his abdomen, off of his chest, and Shepard loses it when he catches eye contact with him.

Like a prowling animal, the man smirks when the man in the song growls, _You should close your eyes and reinvent me._

Lord, Shepard wants to.

The music picks up and the man is rounding again, and he's climbing and setting a perfect step as he sways his hips, and he picks himself up again and oh, no, Shepard wishes he could do _that_. How he points his toes and moves with grace and makes climbing up and floating down so effortless.

Eye contact is made again, and Shepard feels a certain straining in his pants.

He checks for the nearest door.

He won't admit it, but he sort of runs out into the street, searching for Miranda's little car.

* * *

The next time he comes around to the club, he's alone, and hoping the anticipation he feels doesn't put him down if the man's not there.

There is barely anyone in the club tonight. It's a Sunday, Shepard doesn't need work, and he's set to enjoy himself and his imagination as he watches someone _dance_ for him. He's surely never had time for romance, so why not just... Be? For a few nights, perhaps he'd even come by next week if he ever gets back around to come back here.

With the threshold passed, he steps in and finds the bar behind the metal bass and the melody of guitar. Rock this time, he thinks, and he swears he's heard this song from a while ago.

The man is on a farther stage this time. His hair is messy as he climbs up, and back-bends down and arches upside-down on the pole, legs sliding farther towards his hands like he's in a nearly perfect C, and his face is so straight, so seductive, and the way he moves makes Shepard want to sell his self esteem one dollar at a time. 

Then again, the music just sang that, didn't it?

How this man bends and doesn't break, just his slim, toned figure and his spinning and his fluent movement, utmost grace.The guitar is screaming for Shepard to join the little sitting and hooting crowd of women, no men tonight, and suddenly the rhythm is getting to Shepard again.

He's suddenly jealous of the crowd, and keeps to himself when the song ends. Shepard turns his head and misses the little shuffle the man gives to the little crowd, a quirky little laugh and smile he may never see, just to sip at his whiskey and focus on not turning back.

Though when he does glance back, the man isn't on the stage, and Shepard finds a sinking feeling in his chest, that grows with each second he keeps staring. A different person is set up on the stage, blue lipstick and hair, lithe and graceful as the track plays for her.

"Cadillac martini, please," a rather husky voice sounds from beside Shepard. He looks over and almost chokes on his whiskey, feels it burning in his nose, pinched the bridge of it and suppresses his coughing. The man furrows his brow, mouth parting to say something as he glances to the bartender, glances back, and finally speaks to Shepard.

"I'm sorry, but are you alright?" He asks in the most politely seductive voice Shepard's ever heard. It's a quiet tone that holds a secret, some sort of other worldly hum to it. 

Shepard thinks he could get used to hearing it.

"No--" SHepard says and gives one last cough, clearing his throat as he tries to smile it off, shaking his head. Ultimately he chooses to lean his head on his palm, fingers running over his shorn head. "I mean yes, I'm fine. You just," he takes a breath and dreads the man's words to him. Smooth, Shepard, smooth. "You startled me."

The man, now, takes an interest to Shepard's voice, one that doesn't quite match his hardened face. It's gentle and when he laughs it lights up a considerable amount, not too much, but enough to make a likable difference. "I'm sorry," the man laughs.

"Drinking on the job?" Shepard hums lightly, head still in his hand. 

"'m off right now," the man says with a satisfied sigh.

"So," Shepard starts, scratching the top of his head, just a nervous habit. "How do you do that?" He asks, and the other man just laughs, mainly at Shepard's little curious half-smile.

"Try a father forcing you into gymnastics really, _really_ young, plus few jobs easy enough for full-time pay for rent, stir well and salt to taste," he says like it hasn't really told some tragic back-story, and Shepard can feel it grip his insides and twist, pulling his being closer. So much for need for emotional bonding. Yet he's so, so scared he'll just become cold and/or break a fragile, invisible barrier.

Shepard feels a little at ease when Kaidan gives him a look for him to talk, a light in his honeyed-black eyes that's rather friendly and open. "I, uh," Shepard stammers, swallowing with his dry mouth. "I can relate. But, I mean... wow." He sighs, and Kaidan laughs again, nodding in approval. 

"I know," he says, and takes a little sip of his drink, just a small one, and Shepard glares at him (it's not necessarily unfriendly when added the little grin on his face), and Kaidan grins back.

"You know, a lot of people would kill to be able to do that. Takes core strength, I'm sure," Shepard tries, and Kaidan shrugs, bending over the table to grab at more tequila, pouring it in his little glass before the bartender can see. 

"It's not that hard after practice," the man says. He sets the tequila down and sidles back into his bar stool.

Shepard hums, just hums. And he realizes he doesn't know the man's given name, let alone any significant identity other than: young gymnast, pole dancer, hot, and hot. "I'm Shepard," he sighs, holding out his hand for the other to shake.

"I'm not supposed to give you my name, but I _am_ off work, so... you can call me Kaidan," _Kaidan_ says, shaking Shepard's hand with a delicate touch.

"Kaidan," Shepard lets it roll of his tongue in a languid, smooth two syllables, and feels satisfied but hungry for more about this man.

"It's really crazy how you can move like that," Shepard says, shaking his head like he's in disbelief. Kaidan is smiling behind his glass, listening to the compliments and absolutely soaking them up. "Could teach me a few things," Shepard mumbles.

Kaidan hears it.

His smile drops and he furrows his brow in confusion, pouting his lip in thought. "Hm. Was that a come-on?" He asks, putting on a mock front like he's offended.

_Shit._

Shepard believes it and tries his best not to refer to himself as another pervert, some guy just trying to get at it over some beautiful dancer, the temptation never reached. "I-" he stammers.

"Have to go. _I_ have to go," Kaidan finishes, almost like finishing another's sentence, and the look on Shepard's face says, _I was just about to say that, punk_. It's a little memento that makes Kaidan shrug his jacket over his bare chest, a greyish-blue hoodie, and makes him walk a little faster at the possibility of chemistry.

Shepard goes back to drinking and shakes his head in hand.

So much for breaking boundaries.

* * *

Yes, he's back after a week, no surprises, and he has intentions of getting back into some sort of connection with... He's almost forgotten his name. How could he? 

_Kaidan_.

Such a name, Shepard ponders, to such a face, such a body, such grace. How he steps next to the pole and makes the crowd taste the sexuality, the temptation, somehow entrancing some into just... _staring_. Tonight Kaidan is stuck in Shepard's head, and he's taken a seat at the bar again at the time that Kaidan gets off of work, how he orders his usual and takes a seat in silence.

Unfortunately, Kaidan's gotten off early, and he's sitting where Shepard usually sits. Sultry music plays on this Friday night, and one party of people look reserved and professional.

Drink up one more time, Shepard thinks. He wants Kaidan to be his when he walks over, like the world is stopping when Kaidan turns his head and looks him up and down, bites his lip subtly and turns away.

Shepard takes a seat to his right.

Kaidan sighs.

"You keep coming back," he mutters like Shepard's been pushed away before, which the more he thinks, the more he should say it.

So he does. "I don't recall ever being pushed away," and has a satisfied smile on his lips when Kaidan's perfect mouth turns up into a slow-growing grin. A sultry gaze is passed his way, and Shepard feels an ember burning somewhere deep in his core again

"You're a smart one," Kaidan teases, and laughs when Shepard shrugs and his expression tells of his slightly, suddenly and briefly cocky attitude.

"I've been told a few times," Shepard says as his expression falls into the place of neutrality.

Kaidan huffs. "So I'm not the only one?" He speaks in his husky tone, a pout on his face that turns into a little coy smile.

"You could be," Shepard winks, and Kaidan's face flushes, he swears, visible even in the dim light.

"I take my clothes off for crowds for a living, you don't want me," Kaidan hushes, and suddenly Shepard realizes the solemn fact that Kaidan's life must hold. There may be judgement, and Shepard furrows his brow and suddenly becomes the holder of a protective identity.

"Kaidan, listen. I hate to come on more than I already have, but-- my god, you really are beautiful," and notes the way the other purses his lips like he's heard this before.

Shepard tries a different approach.

"Please don't preach that to me," Kaidan sighs.

Shepard lights up. "I'm not preaching," he says, matter-of-factly. "I'm telling you this because I can see that something bothers you, some dysphoria maybe. I struggled once, too. I recognize it," he says, encouraging, albeit a little grimly.

"People would kill to work like you. To get your pay so easily. People want to love you because you display what they've learned is maybe a little vulgar-- but Kaidan, there are people like me that could appreciate your background," he hums, and suddenly after it's out of his mouth, he feels like he's convincing Kaidan to get with him again.

So he decides on another tone, yet again.

"The struggle is temporary. Everything is temporary," Shepard says and turns back to his drink.

Kaidan thinks, against his will, against his knowledge that an observer is only and profoundly an observer, _Even you?_ Mentally, he kicks himself for thinking it. BUt it always comes and goes, the affection. It's happened before.

So he just smiles, Kaidan smiles and nods. "Thanks, I guess," and makes sure his smile doesnt turn into a grimace of fought self-disapproval. Being something of a vulgar, profane idol comes with a high price.

There's always the moments where you feel you'll never be more than eye candy. Never more than a temptation.

Never more than a "slut."

"Kaidan?" Shepard's voice brings him to again, and he glances over a few times, feeling an anxiety-esque prick at the back of his neck. A sinking feeling in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he smiles, a little apologetically. "It's time for me to go," he says politely, and shoots Shepard an ambiguous little expression.

A split second passes when Kaidan's tilting his head like he's looking at a masterpiece.

Shepard bids him a good night and forgets to smile back.

* * *

 

Kidan wants to crawl on the stage and run his hands down his chest, clad in nothing but those tight black pants. Shepard isn't there, he knows, _there isn't a reason to be so bold_. And yet the thought doesn't stop him from bringing out his self-control, and he keeps it that way. His crowd is his tonight, he't the main attraction from the leather couches that line the room, the chairs and the chaise lounges that sit upon the black floor. The lights are dimmer tonight, and their hue is a deep red, hints of plum along the sidelines.

The way it casts upon his face, his body, and the music he hears is a sweet sight for sore eyes.

But he's started on the pole tonight with the lights low, and he's taking it slow to the off-beats of the music, the sultry voice that rings in an echo through the club. He swings lightly and rounds and rounds climbing up and accenting with fluid motions of his hands, his legs, and he fans himself out horizontally before a drop that swings him around again, and he's making a helix with his body tight to the pole. 

He's taking out all of his energy on this once dance tonight.

He relates to the song somehow, the dark tones that form a bass line, and he stills and slow to a stop before violins play in track against the beats. There's still a certain uneasiness under his skin, some relation to Shepard, his words that somehow kept him going, and when the violins sing like his heart, Kaidan glances around once, twice as he swings to the round and picks up to a pose upside-down with his thighs holding him in place.

Shepard walks through the door and smiles when Kaidan catches his eye.

Shepard, to Kaidan's slight dismay, sits directly in front of the stage like the seat was reserved for him.

Kaidan feels exposed and vulnerable in front of him, and tries not to fault, but when other eyes turn to Shepard and his bold, cross-legged stature, arms on each rest like he's waiting for something special.

And Kaidan smirks when the music picks up with horns this time, a satisfied little quirk of his lips as he clutches to the pole and swings his legs wide, wrapping them and twisting and turning until he's unraveling himself in motions that blossom him and drop him down into an arched position again, gripping the base of the pole and then up. He lets the music slow down to it's end as a woman sings, _You haunt my dreams_.

He becomes romantic and curls around the pole, and everyone watches in awe as he sighs out with arms outstretched and bends, head facing the floor as he plants both hands on the floor when the music starts fading, standing on his hands. Legs follow one after another, floating down behind him to plant on the floor in a gracious movement, and he stands back up.

The crowd hoots and whistles as always, but Shepard stays silent. Kaidan makes a certain contact with him this time, and somehow something clicks in his brain.

He pads his feet on the stage and goes to the backroom where most of the women get readied, and he catches Samara and her red eyeliner trailing after Liara for their usual fling, holding out his hand to let him bid her good luck with Liara.

Usually, they end up making the crowd grow frenzied and aroused in more than a few ways.

But Kaidan takes his time unwinding this time, feels himself shake a little at the thought of Shepard waiting for him at the bar. He thinks about boundaries, how they've just met. He thinks of how the man's presence is an aphrodisiac, how they've created so much chemistry already, the few last times how they've shared a little laugh and a coy glance.

He approaches the bar and waits for Shepard to remark him on his performance, and somehow he wishes he just wouldn't.

And he doesn't.

Kaidan takes the opportunity to push and bend and shove to his will, tapping Shepard on the shoulder, their first tiny amount of contact in what feels like forever, electric in it's small property, and yet it catches Shepard's attention perfectly.

"Shepard, I need to talk to you," he says, friendly and a little ambiguous in tone.

Shepard follows suit, placing his money on the bar and walking, stumbling a little, to where Kaidan leads to.

* * *

Somehow they've caught up in a sensation together, just staring, really, wanting, waiting. Drink up and I'll make you mine, Kaidan's head sings, Shepard's heart groans.

They stay right in between for a while, and on this late night Kaidan feels like everything slows to a motion unlike any other he's felt when he touches his hand to Shepard's arm.

Oh, the things he won't do.

But he _might_.

So he leans in and kisses Shepard on the neck, a chaste, seducing move that makes Shepard's knees weak. Kaidan nips there and he feels Shepard's heart race for a moment.

Until there's hands on his shoulders, not pushing, but just staying there. "Should we do this?"

"Do what?" Kaidan asks against Shepard's skin.

"Kaidan--" he stammers, looking down and lifting Kaidan's head up from his chin.

Kaidan winks and laughs low in his throat, haughty and wanton.

Shepard understands this little game now. He decides to play along.

He basks in the attention Kaidan gives him, and he wants to be his prisoner. He wants this magnificent man, this lithe muse, such a delicately-touching being. He thinks that if he's had alcohol that would dull this feeling, imagine how it'd feel when he sobers up? Part of him doesn't think Kaidan would be back if they push too far, doesn't think he'd want him anymore if they get too intimate. Shepard's always had commitment issues no matter how hard he tried to rid of it, how much he just needed, wanted someone to hold.

Kaidan stroked his fingers around Shepard's neck to curve around the back, palm flat against his heated skin. He's flush against Shepard, right there and so real, and he presses his forehead to Shepard's, too. He can't seem to be close enough. Every part of him wants more.

Yet he still takes it so slow, still deliberately teases and keeps things in the dark.

Kaidan's always liked things a bit darker.

Shepard becomes more and more infatuated, seemingly _obsessed_ with his enigma, his muse, this little unreachable light at the end of the tunnel. Kaidan's touches, slow and nearly comforting, coddling, make him take on this aura of possessiveness, surreal and hungry as it growls, _I will drive others away, separate you, and you will be mine._

Kaidan is a hunter for these things, the certain men and women he can overcome and simply _be_ with. He hums low in his throat and keeps their foreheads together, stroking up and down one of Shepard's arms. "How much closer do you want to get?"

Shepard feels like he's put on the spot. His mouth goes dry, and he somehow feels like Kaidan is bidding on the attention he'll give.

Shepard cups Kaidan's jaw and forces him to look him in the eye. "I could be yours, if you'd like," he says, throwing the bidding card straight back at Kaidan.

The man smiles, honey eyes taking on a certain glint in them.

"I think I could try that," he hums through his smile. "I want you to bend to my will, I want you to watch me. I feel like," he stops himself, suddenly caught up in losing the enigmatic, coy facade. He swallows hard and his smile drops. "I could be yours, too."

Shepard smiles, and through the darkness, the silence framed by soft music in the distance, slow and sensual, he leans forwards the few inches left between him and Kaidan and presses a kiss to Kaidan's... jaw.

"Let's keep this game going, shall we?" He hums, satisfied with the way Kaidan becomes putty in his hands at his ministrations, at his contact that's just so _close_ yet so, so far.

"Sure thing," Kaidan hums, and his nails dig into the back of Shepard's neck. Shepard wants to reach out and claw his way through Kaidan, take him and make him his, his only, his gorgeous muse. The way his eyes flicker shut and open again, gaze trailing up and down Shepard's body, at least to his collar where a little bite mark lay. And his eyes trail back up as their distance closes little by little, Shepard's hands trembling slightly. It's been so long, it's been too long. Yet Kaidan inches closer until there's a little, tiny gap between their lips.

He can feel Kaidan's breath, his little smirk.

Shepard swallows dry this time around, and he lets himself fall into Kaidan's dark touches. He needs that contact, yet he's frozen in place and can't move, can barely _feel_. Because he's afraid it'll just be another fling thrown away, another whisper in the alleys, another habit.

But it can't be so bad.

Not when Kaidan closes the distance. It's better than bad.

_Just one taste,_ he thinks. _Just one taste._

**Author's Note:**

> yoyoyo here's a list of songs I wrote to and/or Kaidan danced to. just give them a try por favor  
> first dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rpD-yf_vHYA  
> second dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbSHIuKD0z0  
> third: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24pC_V7Q__A  
> closing scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uI1XZzAy9sQ 
> 
> series will be updated soon. probably a two-parter


End file.
